The God in the Purple Shirt
by xXFanGirl23Xx
Summary: Late one night, John is laying in bed. Sherlock is downstairs playing love songs non stop on his violin, which is unusual in every sense. Exactly one year after they meet, is it time John finds out the side of Sherlock not everyone gets to see? Rated M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**THE GOD IN THE PURPLE SHIRT**

**CHAPTER ONE**

John sighed, lounging in his bed in the early morning hours. Sherlock was up playing his violin again, like he always did when he was deep in thought. Normally, John would shut it out and go back to sleep after yelling some sort of insulting command, but tonight was different. Tonight, Sherlock was spending the night playing love songs.

At first, John didn't think anything of it. On occasion, one may be played just by chance, but tonight, many flowed from the sitting room, one after another, pausing only to change songs. It had been over six weeks since he told Sherlock of Irene's new life in America, which was only a cover up story.

Then he absentmindedly looked at the calendar hanging on his wall, spying the date and suddenly, something in his mind clicked. It was one year, on the dot, that John and Sherlock had met. But that didn't mean anything… did it?

John wasn't sure, but then again, it was Sherlock. Did he see it fit to celebrate this, or was it only ironic? He couldn't put in mind the image of Sherlock doing things like this for a one year anniversary of their friendship's start, but then again, this was Sherlock. He wasn't exactly the most normal bloke in the world, but the world wouldn't be the same without that brilliant man.

Giving up on lounging around with questions in every part of his mind, he grabbed his dressing robe and pulled it around him tightly before heading out to confront the mysterious detective. The scene in front of him was almost unchanging as he entered the room.

Sherlock stood with his violin perfectly positioned, slowly pulling the bow across the stings to make a beautiful and loving melody flow from the instrument. He wore that purple dress shirt which clung to his chest to show just how fit he was with the black jeans that hugged his legs perfectly, making him look like a clothed version of a god. His eyes, those ever changing eyes, were closed, and his body was relaxed as he swayed lightly to the melody which he played.

John struggled not to let his jaw drop as he stood awestruck in the doorway, just watching the godly version of Sherlock he had never realized he lived with. Slowly, he moved his limp body to the couch, where he could sit and watch Sherlock for hours and hours if the god would indulge him by playing his violin like he always did when deep in thought.

John's eyes never left the face of his flatmate as Sherlock slowly waltzed around the room as if he were walking on air. The sight made John's heart flutter in delight. Only he, John Hamish Watson, had the ultimate pleasure of watching the great Sherlock Holmes at two fifteen in the morning, dancing around the room to the melodies that poured out from the violin. It seemed like Sherlock would stay that way for forever, but it was only a matter of moments when he opened his eyes, the blue-grey pair staring straight at John.


	2. Chapter 2

"Shouldn't you be sleeping? It's rather early to be up." Sherlock said, lowering his violin from his shoulder. John snorted lightly. _He's one to talk_ he thought to himself with a small smile. He lounged back on the couch, smiling at the ceiling.

"With the beautiful music coming from downstairs, it's impossible to sleep. Besides, I liked the little concert. You should play more often." John said with a gentle tone, not leading on to how much more unreal Sherlock looked when he got lost in the music. The moments played back through his mind as he stared aimlessly at the ceiling. He could feel Sherlock's eyes drifting over him, and the thought of those beautiful eyes that noticed everything analyzing him made him shiver slightly.

John had no idea why he suddenly felt that way, it's not like he had felt any particular interest in men, especially Sherlock, outside of the army. Sure, you mess around, but what happened in the army, stayed in the army. At least, that was the case in the life of John Watson. He sat there, trying to ignore the fact that it was unusually quiet, but soon as he went to speak up, Sherlock beat him to it.

"Maybe… I'll think about it." Sherlock commented, setting his violin back in the case, laying the bow in its usual place. John looked over, watching as Sherlock grabbed his laptop and sat in his usual chair, tucking his feet up underneath him like a five year old. John smiled inwardly at the amusing sight he'd grown accustom to seeing daily. The room was filled with the tapping of keys as Sherlock completely zoned in on whatever data he was recording now. John sighed lightly, making Sherlock look up for once.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, looking over curiously.

"Nothing, just thinking… It's ironic that you'd be playing romantic music tonight… It's a year to date since we've met." John said, trying to be nonchalant. It was only a coincidence, of course it was. It wasn't as if Sherlock actually kept track of these things, and even if he did, why would he care about the day he met John?

Sherlock nodded in reply, turning back to his laptop, but not typing onwards. The glazed look in his eyes gave away the fact he was deep in thought about something. And John, being the man and flatmate he was, wasn't going to even question it.

"Well, I suppose if you're done playing violin, I'll head to bed. Goodnight Sherlock." John said, standing up and retreating back up the stairs. Sherlock hadn't said a word, but he wasn't taking it too seriously. Sherlock was that kind of person who didn't talk when he thought. He quickly draped his dressing gown over the bed post, plopping down on the bed and falling back to sleep without a second thought.

**_Sherlock POV_**

"Nothing, just thinking… It's ironic that you'd be playing romantic music tonight… It's a year to date since we've met." John said, trying to be nonchalant. Suddenly it hit him. He had known the date was important to him, but he wasn't sure how. Quickly, he looked back at his laptop, staring at the document he was typing before.

John had been the center of his focus after the cases and experiments were pushed aside. He had always ignored emotions, having taught himself to block them out at a very young age, but somehow, with John, that was never the case. From the first time he saw John from across the lab room, he had been changed forever. John was shorter, but strong and blonde. The limp wasn't real, but it was clear he had been hurt. The tan of a soldier's, the knowledge of a doctor, and the clear disposition of someone who was slightly unaccustomed to London and the civilian lifestyle, all of it made John the perfect companion.

But after moving in with him, Sherlock had felt something entirely different and new from what he had ever felt about anyone before. Not even with Molly had he felt this way. He watched John fret over things like eating and sleeping, making him only want to cause him to fret more because he was so cute when he did. His whole heart seemed to flutter when John did something cute, which was probably a daily event.

And now, absently playing romantic music on the anniversary of the day they met, only confirmed what he felt even more. He was in love. And not just by a little bit. He was truly in love, head over heels, flat on his face, in love with John Watson. And that wasn't about to change anytime soon.

His thought s circled around and around, trying to organize every thought into a category inside his mind. He looked over to see John had gone, most likely back to bed. He sighed and went to pick up his violin again, but thought better of it, and instead ended up laying across the couch where John was sitting, looking up at the ceiling, letting thoughts of John float around his head all night, waiting for John to wake in the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

The morning light shown in the window too early for John's liking, but he rolled over, making an attempt to shift his tired body out of bed. Being woken up early in the morning takes a toll on people, but it wasn't as if he wasn't used to Sherlock's wake up calls. In fact, sometimes he wondered if Sherlock just did that to get his attention. In wasn't until he was about to tumble out of bed when he heard the water running downstairs.

He got up, groaning as he stretched, wrapping his dressing gown around him once again, and trudged down the stairs. Sherlock wasn't anywhere to be seen, and his brain hadn't woken up enough to comprehend that his godly flatmate was in the shower. In fact, the coffee was brewing when Sherlock stepped out, towel wrapped tightly around his waist, hair still dripping wet when John put two and two together, and stood there gaping at him.

Sherlock's dark curls were weighted down by the water, which dripped down his perfectly sculpted chest. His abs, which showed above the towel, were tight and toned to perfection. Sherlock had the body ever man worked their whole life for, and yet, he didn't seem to care. He knew he had announced before that he wasn't gay, but right now, he was trying to find a way to take it back. Well, being bi wasn't the same as being gay, so it could be a good enough reason.

Sherlock smirked lightly. "You're staring, John." He said with a slight chuckle in his voice. John didn't even look away, he just blushed, and darkly. His brain slowly tried to form a sentence, but even when he went to speak, his voice wouldn't work. It took about five minutes for him to manage one word.

"Breakfast?" He asked, finally finding his voice. Sherlock shrugged, sitting at the table in front of his microscope, not bothering to get dressed yet. John flushed more as he set a cup of coffee beside the numerous amounts of Petri dishes stacked up beside the microscope, his hand brushing against Sherlock's bare arm. There was no way he was going to make it through the morning if Sherlock kept insisting on not getting dressed, but secretly, and honestly, he could care less.

Deciding better than to ask again, he scrambled the three eggs that were left in the fridge, fried up some bacon, popped four pieces of bread into the toaster, and pulled out two places. It wasn't long before a pair of arms wrapped around his waist and hot air brushed across his ear. John flushed at the feeling of the still wet and bare chest of Sherlock's pressed against his back, with only a dressing gown between their bare skin. Surprisingly, the position felt… right.

He quickly dished up the breakfast, equally distributing it between the two of them then, turning around to face Sherlock, their lips brushed softly. It took all he could to keep a grip on the plates in his hands, instinctively freezing at the contact. Sherlock moved back, looking almost apologetic. Sherlock was apologetic? No, it couldn't be. He would never apologize, to anyone, and especially not for something like that.

"Breakfast actually sounds good right now." Sherlock said after a moment. John nodded, setting the plates on the table, after pushing all of the science clutter out of the way. Sherlock, for once, sat like a normal adult instead of a five year old child with his feet tucked up under him. He smiled to himself, settling for the chair across from the microscope.

"So, any new cases, experiments, or anything truly exciting on the agenda today?" John asked between bites. Sherlock nodded once, but didn't say anything on what he was planning to do; instead, he busied himself with shoveling food into his mouth. For some reason, this only made John smile more with excitement, his mind buzzing about, deducing what Sherlock could possibly be hiding. Maybe it was exploding rocks, or mixing two completely unknown chemical compounds together to see what would happen. With Sherlock Holmes, one could never be sure what to expect. All John knew was that this was going to be a surprisingly good day.

* * *

John hadn't been able to decode what Sherlock was planning, but he needed to sleep. A hot shower had done the trick to make him ready to doze off as he let himself fall helplessly into his usual chair. Sherlock was buzzing about the flat, probably taking inventory of his experiment components and making a mental list of what to get on his next trip to the morgue. Honestly, just as long as there wasn't making too much noise, he didn't care. It wasn't too long before he fell into a much needed, recently deprived, sleep.

The dreams that followed John were usually ones of horror and death and caused him to wake up with screams echoing through his head. But this time, he didn't dream of the war, or of the army, or of friends in the army. He dreamt of Sherlock; the perfectly built chest, the palest of pale skin, the softest touch with those long and slim fingers that could pick any lock in London, the pink lips that brushed gently against his earlier that morning.

Sleep was pleasant for a change. John actually felt at peace with the world. It was the first time he'd dreamt of Sherlock, but somewhere in his subconscious, he knew the reason why.

When their lips had brushed for the first time in the kitchen, it felt as though lightning had struck him. His heart faltered slightly before pounding all too hard in his chest. His breath had caught in his throat and it stayed there until Sherlock had pulled away. His body felt on fire, but it had only lasted while his godly flatmate had been closer to him than anyone had been in what seemed like years.

John suddenly woke with a start. His body was suddenly telling him what he hadn't expected. He was in love with Sherlock Holmes, the one and only consulting detective and god on earth. He turned to find that a sticky note was posted on the laptop lid, positioned on the desk where he could read it with ease.

_Be back later. Went to buy food. Tea is ready to make when you wake. –SH_


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** I apologize for the delay in updates. I had too much homework since the last update, but I hope this chapter compensates for the lack of an update. Thanks guys so much for the support. Hope you enjoy! More on the way!

* * *

The flat seemed empty without Sherlock, even for the hour that he was gone. The microscope and various Petri dishes were still on the kitchen table, and now inhabited the area were John would sit across from him, in attempts to get him to eat. John sighed with a slight smile. Experiments were all too common in the kitchen, which Sherlock had turned into a science lab more so than a place to prepare food.

To most people's surprise, John actually never minded the odd body parts and organs that Sherlock had collected for experiments. In fact, he found them rather interesting, in a gross way. He only complained about the things in the fridge, especially since Sherlock normally used all the milk to grow a variety of bacteria. Of course, the severed head wasn't the most pleasant surprise, but it was still a gross yet interesting thing on John's list.

Figuring that Sherlock would be late, John put the kettle on. He set out two cups, just in case, but he had his doubts. He was pouring himself a cup of tea when the sound of the door opening and closing reached his ears, along with the scent of John's favorite Thai food that hit his nose when Sherlock walked through the kitchen door.

"Want some tea? I was just getting some fo- Is that Thai I smell?" John said, turning to face Sherlock. Once again, the god he lived with, who had broken down and went to actually buy food for once, was wearing tight skinny jeans, black of course, and his purple shirt. _Damn, how many of those shirts does he own?_ John thought to himself as he quickly met Sherlock's eyes, which seemed to be glistening with mischief. Once again, Sherlock read his mind.

"Tea sounds good, thanks. And yes, I bought Thai; you're favorite actually. I hope you don't mind staying in all day. No new cases, so I figured I'd treat you with dinner. And you don't have to buy groceries for a week; I have enough for the two of us." Sherlock said as he started putting things away. John watched him and made mental notes of the things he bought. A gallon of milk, plus a pint for his bacteria growing; yogurt, vanilla and coffee flavored; eggs; bacon; two loaves of bread, one probably to see how long it takes for mold to grow, knowing Sherlock; two more boxes of tea; batteries.

"Batteries? What are you doing with batteries?" John asked, sipping his tea while looking over at his flatmate. Sherlock smirked.

"You're alarm clock needs new ones. I took them out this morning to use with my latest experiment on acids." Sherlock stated matter-of-factly. John laughed, shaking his head in amusement. It was never boring here, especially when Sherlock's boredom led to a number of varieties of experiments that varied from room to room. This is one thing that had always made John smile, and would always make him smile. Sherlock had the brain of a scientist, and here at home, he used it to its full extent.

As John pulled out the Thai take away, dishing it up evenly between the two plates Sherlock had just set out, he asked in an interested voice. "So, how'd that experiment turn out?" Sherlock smiled proudly and began to explain, in high detail, everything of his experimenting. John listened, though most of it went straight over his head. When he was finished, Sherlock smiled even brighter at John as he said "Maybe next time, you can help me out."

John blinked back the shock. Sherlock never wanted his help, especially with home experiments. Of course, Sherlock never bought food for dinner either. John smiled, nodding. "I think I'd like that." He said as he handed Sherlock a plate on a tray. They sat across from each other in their usual chairs, and chatted about nothing of importance while they ate. It was pleasant to see Sherlock eating for once, and not just a bite here and there. It was a change, but change is good in most cases.

The later it got, the closer they came to each other. Sherlock had begun asking personal questions about John's life before they had met. Although he found it silly, John explained how dull his school days were, and how he longed for adventure and danger. It wasn't until he met Sherlock that he found out about the ongoing criminal war in London, and was extremely excited to have been a part of it for a year now.

The clock stuck nine when the two had switched from sitting in their chairs to sitting side by side on the couch; John with his laptop, and Sherlock with his violin. John noted again that Sherlock was playing a love song, but not just any old love song this time.

The song was different from the others, softer and happier. He never heard it before tonight, but it struck him as more beautiful than any of his favorites had been. This time, John was curious and awake enough to interrogate Sherlock about it. Once the song was finished, John put his hand on Sherlock's thigh.

"What song was that? I've never heard it before, but it was beautiful. Very beautiful, actually." John said, not looking up from his screen. Sherlock's hand fell over his, and he waited until John looked up to speak.

"I wrote it last night, after you went to bed, but before I woke you up with other love songs. It doesn't have a title yet, but there was one in my mind when I wrote it." Sherlock explained in a soft voice. John's heart fluttered lightly.

"And that would be…?" he prompted.

"Dear John." Sherlock said, his voice had lowered, and the words rolled off his tongue in a sweet, cherished manner. John could have sworn his heart stopped beating for a moment. Sherlock's words took less than a second to snap into place, among other thoughts and clues as to what was really going on.

_He loves me. _John thought to himself, absently leaning closer to his flatmate. _Sherlock Holmes, the world's greatest, and only, consulting detective loves me._ He didn't even try to stop himself from moving closer, and for once, Sherlock didn't ask him to. In fact, he was leaning over as well.

Their lips met with a soft touch a first, and once again the sparks flew. It felt like two worlds had touched for the first time once again, and John couldn't help but smile against Sherlock's pink lips. Suddenly, Sherlock's hand was on the back of his head, pulling him closer and smashing their lips together in a heated kiss. John's mind raced as his hands flew up, tangling themselves in the brown curls.

For the first time in his life, John felt like he was in the right place. Kissing the various women he had dated over the years had suddenly meant nothing at all, and that was fine. Kissing Sherlock felt like kissing a god, as well as kissing the most amazing man in the history of creation itself, and that was fine too. So what if people thought him strange, he had Sherlock Holmes kissing him, and that's all he'd ever need.

Sherlock pulled away to breath, but was smiling at John; pupils dilated so much the normal grey-blue eyes had almost ceased to exist. Many things ran across John's mind at that moment, but the two strongest feelings were love and lust, two things he'd never felt for Sherlock in his life. Now, they dominated his mind and his actions, and nothing felt nicer.

John let Sherlock breathe for less than a minute before smashing their lips together again. His tongue slide across Sherlock's soft lips and pried them open. He heard Sherlock's muffed groan as he pushed him down onto the couch, and luckily for them, Sherlock had moved the violin to the floor before hand. John was quick with his hands and had Sherlock's purple shirt unbuttoned completely and pushed down off his shoulders in a matter of seconds.

Pulling back, he looked at Sherlock's bare chest once again, and allowed his fingers to trace the muscular plains. Sherlock flexed and shivered lightly as John's fingers ran over his collarbone, and John smirked. Dominating a god had never been this easy.


	5. Chapter 5

_Pulling back, he looked at Sherlock's bare chest once again, and allowed his fingers to trace the muscular plains. Sherlock flexed and shivered lightly as John's fingers ran over his collarbone and John smirked. Dominating a god had never been this easy._

But the domination was only temporary, because Sherlock moved quickly. Catching John off guard, the ex army doctor was pressed against the couch and suddenly the skinny, lanky body was leaning over him. Sherlock had worked his jumper off of his shoulder enough for the scar to be seen. He shivered lightly as Sherlock's lips pressed against the battle scar gently.

The kiss was tender, loving, but also heartfelt. His John had been hurt, and that hurt him. With one swift move, Sherlock pulled the jumper off of John and his lips went to work, pressing kisses to his shoulders first, then his upper torso, working his way down. He let his tongue tease the pink nipples lightly, and heard John's soft groans when he did. Pleased by the reaction, he continued south.

He pressed gentle kisses around his navel, adoring how fit John was still. He was a soldier, and a doctor. A fighter and a healer. Sherlock had let this man into his life because he needed him, not for paying the rent, but for this. He was broken, but right now, in this moment with John, he was whole. And for that, he was forever thankful.

But he had taken a step towards this everyday, and he wasn't going to let John wait any longer. Without pausing to think, his fingers worked the button and zipper of John's jeans open, and quickly tugged them off. John couldn't surpass the groan that escaped his lips as Sherlock's hand quickly cupped his half hard erection.

'Damn, why is he so irresistible?!' John thought as he ground against Sherlock's hand. It took everything he had to not let his hormones take over and make all his fantasies come true, but he couldn't help as his hand quickly grabbed a handful of the darker curls and pulled him up for another kiss.

This kiss, unlike the others, was sloppier and rougher. They bit and tugged at each others lips, licking and pecking when they could. John let his lips trail along Sherlock's pronounced cheekbones, and smiled inwardly. They were sharp and perfect, and no one but Sherlock could pull off being so perfect. Once again, he caught a glimpsed of Sherlock's eyes. The normal blue-grey color was barely a rim around his now dark eyes. John couldn't help but smile at this, until he felt Sherlock's hand rubbing him through his pants.

He had even worn those red pants, the ones that he knew were silly to wear, but they were probably his favorites, if he had a favorite pair of pants anyway. The fabric was thinner than usual and the sensation was almost unbearable to handle. A louder groan slid past his lips involuntarily. He normally would have hated this, but for some reason, he was enjoying it. Sherlock's thin fingers quickly slid under the waistband, yanking them off in a split second. John quickly pushed him back, stripping him of his shirt and unfastening his beautiful black jeans with ease. And with one final yank, both men laid across the couch, John on top of Sherlock, completely naked and completely in love. At first, the thought would be impossible to imagine, but now John could envision it all perfectly.

Sherlock smirked as he pushed John off of him, getting up off the couch. John pouted lightly and wondered what he'd done wrong. He was about to speak when Sherlock knelt on the floor, pulling him to face towards the now naked god.

John's heart sped up and was beating at least one hundred miles an hour. Sherlock pressed heated kisses up and down his thighs before quickly taking him completely into his mouth. John let out a moan as he felt the heat from Sherlock encase him, and the sensation was overwhelming. He closed his eyes as he felt Sherlock start to suck, gently at first, but rougher as the moments passed.

It was hard to believe that his deepest dreams were coming true, but here he was, eyes closed and moaning as Sherlock sucked him. The pleasure of the moment was stronger than ever, and he wondered if this would have been the same months earlier. He came to the quick conclusion that it wouldn't have been this intense or passionate. In fact, he was led to believe it wouldn't have been an option months before now. Sherlock was always one to believe that love was dangerous and a huge disadvantage.

It hadn't been long, a few minutes at most, before John gripped Sherlock's shoulders for support as he came with a loud moan that filled the room. Sherlock looked up at him after letting go with a smile.

No words were said, but they weren't needed. John pulled Sherlock back up onto the couch and laid him down so he could snuggle into his chest. Sherlock allowed him to, quickly pulling the blanket draped across the back of the couch across them both.

John closed his eyes as Sherlock gently stroked his hair. So love was dangerous, but that was okay with him. And maybe it was a disadvantage, but so what? He had Sherlock, and he'd always have Sherlock. And he knew life with Sherlock was the best life he could ever have.

And to think, it had all started, the love and fantasies had all truly started, with one text.

**_Could be dangerous -SH_**


End file.
